


Egotober 2018

by sylveondreams



Category: jacksepticeye - Fandom, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Egotober 2018, Gen, M/M, i didn't get all of the prompts done but here's what i did do, several short fics in one box, warnings in descriptions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-23 04:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17073848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylveondreams/pseuds/sylveondreams
Summary: Prompts by egosurveillance, from here!This is a varied collection of bullshit and there's nowhere near 31 days. Porting from Tumblr. Enjoy!





	1. Introduction

Prompts are [here](https://egosurveillance.tumblr.com/post/177642114286/egotober-2018-its-that-spooky-scary-time-of-year)

I did the following:  
1 (Haunted House) (W. Warfstache | warnings: none)  
2 (Deceit) (Dark | warnings: none)  
3 (Android) (Dark and Google | warnings: none)  
5 (Wine Red) (Dark | warnings: none)  
9 (Simulacrum) (Chase B. | warnings: none)  
10 (Come Closer) (Dr. Schneeplestein and Anti | warnings: none)  
12 (One-Eyed Jack) (Jack and Anti | warnings: blood)  
14 (Silent Night) (Anti and Chase B. | warnings: none)  
17 (Shades of Blue) (Dark and Google | warnings: none)  
25 (Magenta Martini) (W. Warfstache and Dark | warnings: alcohol)  
26 (Your Reality) (Jack and Anti | warnings: none)


	2. 1 - Haunted House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](http://sylveondreams.tumblr.com/post/178652570093/egotober-day-1-haunted-house).  
> Warnings: none.

The house is silent. The silence bites. His skin prickles with every slight shift in the air as if anticipating something. He paces. He thinks. There’s a whiff of gasoline from the can he put in the doorway as a cool breeze from the quiet gardens outside wafts in through the open doors. Light glints unevenly off of the broken mirror in the corner of his eye. He clenches a fist around the book of matches that have the name of some LA gay bar printed on them. Someone behind him clears their throat, and he turns on his heel to see nothing but the circles in the corners of his eyes spinning away again. Still, it feels like there’s someone there, someone behind him again. He turns again, faster this time, to glare in the other direction. There’s no one. The mirror glints again. He growls in frustration. The spinning circles distract him and consume him, and he can hear years’ worth of voices from all different happenings, and he can see himself from long ago – or not that long, maybe – pacing pacing pacing, and suddenly the smell of gasoline fumes flood his nose. The circles release him, gasping, as he pulls out a match from the matchbook without knowing it, on the doorstep looking in at a house that reeks of gasoline and ghosts. He looks down at the matchbox and reads the address printed on it while he strikes a match on the side. Fire roars quickly into the house’s foyer. The martinis they had there were pretty good, weren’t they?


	3. 2 - Deceit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](http://sylveondreams.tumblr.com/post/178684415923/egotober-day-2-deceit).  
> Warnings: none  
> Additional Notes: Apparently I didn't know what an aphrodisiac was. I have no excuse. I did know.

Dark’s voice reeks of sweet flattery. It’s an aphrodisiac with a slight tang of iron undertones that a listener can’t help but be taken in by. There’s an unnatural alluring quality to that captivating voice of his when it’s heard in person. It draws a listener in, tells them they’re the most beautiful thing in the world and heaps worship on them, all while weaving its web around them so they can never leave. That beautiful voice sings a siren song of lies that no one could disbelieve if they wanted to. And the lips it issues forth from have the most addictive kisses, kisses that taste of the aphrodisiac of his voice (and its slight iron tang) and always leave the recipient craving more. Naturally. Dark only wants power, and Dark always gets what he wants.


	4. 3 - Android

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](http://sylveondreams.tumblr.com/post/178714764768/egotober-day-3-android).  
> Warnings: none  
> Additional notes: I was not a fan of this one.

Google watched the sand drain through the hourglass, counting each grain of sand as it fell. The hourglass took an hour and three seconds to drain completely, and Google had been watching it for sixteen hours, twelve minutes, and forty-one seconds. Low power mode was a bitch, but Google was locked in Dark’s library and didn’t have a charger nearby. Dark had either forgotten about him or just wanted to see what he would do. Google didn’t care. Eighteen hours, thirty-four minutes, and six seconds, and the lock finally clicked to admit Dark to the library. Google looked up at him, his body whirring quietly with the movement. Dark leaned against the doorframe.

_“Were you finding that hourglass interesting?”_

Google didn’t answer, instead letting his low power warning sound.  **Low power mode has been engaged for ten hours. Please allow your Google IRL unit to proceed to the nearest charging point.**

_“Go to it, then.”_

Google turned on his vocal component.  **You’re in the way.**

Dark spread his arms, his auras flickering around him to block the doorway.  _“And you’re going through me.”_

This bullshit again. Google stood up.  **Enabling lethal force. Low power mode prevents electricity weapon from activating. Switching to secondary weapon.**  He uploaded his files to the IRL cloud. Dark was probably going to kill him again.

Google paced towards Dark. Coolant flowed into his arms to make them heavier and able to swing a better hit. Dark didn’t move, still leaning against the doorframe. This was not what Google wanted to be doing on a Wednesday night. Watching the hourglass until he ran out of power would have been better, but this was what Dark wanted and Google had to obey his stupid owner.

**Preparing strike,**  announced the safety precautions Google couldn’t turn off. He raised an arm to bring it crashing down on Dark’s head, but instead stopped short as Dark’s hand grabbed his throat and squeezed it and ripped, sending vital cables and sparks and red coolant jumping everywhere.  **Please repair your Google unit.**

_“Order a new fucking unit instead of giving me that shit, Google.”_ Dark was definitely more pissed than he’d seemed upon first entering the room. Something must have happened before he came here.

Google ordered a replacement body through the warnings of imminent system demise.  **Order c-**  A metal husk collapsed to the library floor.


	5. 5 - Wine Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](http://sylveondreams.tumblr.com/post/178778224273/egotober-day-5-wine-red).  
> Warnings: alcohol mention, but it's not important whatsoever

He swirled the wine in his glass, looking down at it as he listened to the frantic chatter of the human across from him. They wanted something inane, love or fame or whatnot, whatever humans wanted most of the time, and they were prepared to make a deal they didn’t understand to get it. Dark took a sip of wine. Finally, he spoke, interrupting them, to tell them what exactly this deal would cost them. A little bit of their life. They would just have to let him in, and he would make whatever they wanted come to them. He would use them, and in return they would have their wishes granted. An unfair trade, of course, but Dark had never been one to let humans know exactly what they were agreeing to. He took another sip of wine, and the unnecessary contract spread itself across his desk in front of them. It was a formality, but a written record was good enough for filing and keeping track of his possessions. The human glanced up at him from the spidery writing penned by no one and wondered uneasily if they’d have to sign in blood. Imagine that being their chief concern in this situation. Dark allowed himself to laugh at them briefly and informed them that yes, of course, they’d have to prick their finger and drip a tiny crimson drop on the paper (almost never a step he added), but it was only that tiny drop. And of course, the human, they obeyed, scribbling their name in black ink and squeezing a small drop of blood onto the paper, the tiny drop bleeding into the paper and dyeing that little point as red as the dregs of the wine Dark swirled in his glass.


	6. 9 - Simulacrum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](http://sylveondreams.tumblr.com/post/178906150933/day-9-simulacrum).  
> Warnings: brief mention of alcohol but it's not important and it's canon-typical  
> Additional notes: Earlier that day, I'd seen someone's art for the same prompt with Chase, so listen, I'm sorry, but not sorry enough.

Hit record. Do the intro. Pretend he has energy. Come on, Chase, it really isn’t that hard.

Chase had the intro down. He’d watched enough of his friend’s videos to know how to do it. It was pretending to have energy that was the kicker. He’d done the intro about four times since he’d hit record, and every time he’d fucked up right afterwards, the energy of the intro just not translating into the opening of the video right after it. So now he leaned forward with his elbows on the desk, running his fingers through the hair that poked out under his headphones. God fucking damn it. He reached for the glass of whiskey that sat just behind the monitor and drained the rest of it.

Chase sat back and looked into the camera, trying to psych himself up for trying yet again. God – did Robin know? Had the doctor told him? Or did he just think Jack was having a particularly bad day? Chase took a deep breath and sat up straight and began Jack’s intro. But halfway through, his voice cracked and he suddenly found himself crying. He pounded a fist on the desk, tears running down his face. He had to get at least one video done. He’d have to get used to doing this. For however long Jack was in the coma, Chase would take his place on his channel. Nothing should seem wrong. Nothing should seem wrong. Something that seemed wrong: the tears pouring down his face and the fucking  _grimace_  that was the pained smile he was trying to keep up despite this bullshit.

He could just about hear future Robin wondering what was wrong, concerned, drafting a text to send to the phone that sat on the desk next to the computer. Not Chase’s phone. So Chase looked up. Into the camera. Growled through the pained smile. “Chase Brody. Jack’s in a coma. I don’t know how to deal with it. I don’t know what to do. We couldn’t protect him. We couldn’t- we couldn’t protect him.” A sob shook his body. Chase pounded on the desk again. The empty whiskey glass rattled. “He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive, I know I can do this.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t think I can do this.” He wiped the tears from his face and checked the camera’s viewfinder to make sure his eyes weren’t too red. He pushed the headphones back up to the top of his head.

Chase sat up straight, painting the cheerful smile back across his face, and began the video again.


	7. 10 - Come Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](http://sylveondreams.tumblr.com/post/178938781748/egotober-day-10-come-closer).  
> Warnings: none

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The clock’s usually soothing rhythm filled the darkness, reaching everywhere but the figure that stood at the front door, outlined by the slightly lighter darkness of outside.

Henrik clutched the kitchen knife he’d grabbed from the block and stared into the void of the stranger. His hand, clammy with sweat, made the knife tremble with his body. The hallway was silent but for the clock’s ticking. The hallway was silent. The clock was silent.

“What do you want from me?”

“Wha͜t̶ d̛o҉ I̵ want҉ ͏fr͝om̶ you̴,҉ ̛Doc҉tor͢?̸” The broken voice shattered into laughter. “Y͢o͝u ͞kno͠w̢ w҉h͡at I̴ w̧an̛t.͠ Co͏me ͞clo͢s͜er.̶”

Henrik held the knife out in front of him. “I’m not helping you.” But he was walking closer. Betrayed by his body again.

The figure grew larger and larger until it eclipsed the light from outside entirely and consumed Henrik in broken laughter. “Y͞o̕ų ̢d̴o̴n̸'t̛ h̵av͘e͜ ͜a͘ c͡h̛o͜ice.̡ Y̡ou̕'̸r͠e mine̢. T̨he͞y gav̴e ͢yǫu ͝to̕ ̛me, ̕Do̧ct̵o̧r.̴ T̨h̨ey̷ ̛gave ͟all of ͜y̨o̕u ̷t̴o me. M҉y ҉pu̡p͢peţs̵.͠” It reached its hand out and seemed to yank at the air in front of Henrik. He stumbled forwards as if pulled by invisible strings. “An͘d ҉yo҉u ͏wil̨l do ̢e̴x̧ąc͘tly̷ ͜w̨h̸at ͠I̕ ̶w͘ant̢ yo͞u to̵ d҉o.”


	8. 12 - One-Eyed Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](http://sylveondreams.tumblr.com/post/178991067003/egotober-day-12-one-eyed-jack).  
> Warnings: a bit of gore, but it's just blood

Anti perched on the table in front of Jack. He held one of Jack’s kitchen knives in his hand loosely, shifting his grip on it every few seconds as he twirled it around. Jack also held one of his kitchen knives. He’d been trying to cut up vegetables. Anti’s feet were now in his vegetables. Oddly, this did not stop Jack from being utterly terrified.

“It'͞s b҉e͏en a̛ ̡while̵.̵” Anti pointed the knife at Jack’s chest. “Givȩ me̴ ̶w͟hat͏ ̡I̶ want.”

“You’ve never stopped having attention.”

“Not̷ j͢u͘s̸t ͡at͜tentio͡n.  _C̵o̶ntr̡ol_.” Anti jabbed the knife forwards so its tip touched Jack, who was frozen in place.

Jack remembered something. Somehow, it didn’t lessen his fear whatsoever. “You’re not real.”

Anti cackled. “Wȩ'l̵l͢ s̛e͟e̴ about ̧t̴h̕at, S͠ean. Wak͟e up͝.͡” He dropped the knife and shoved Jack back with both hands.

He woke up slumped in his chair in his recording room. The computer had turned itself off. The time on his phone read 4:34. Jack must’ve fallen asleep while – doing whatever he’d been doing. He didn’t really remember. Probably browsing Steam. He shifted, and his joints cracked. Chairs weren’t for sleeping in.

Slowly, Jack got up. The rest of his joints cracked as he moved. Unpleasant. The recording room’s door was ajar. Also unpleasant. His right eye itched. Very fucking unpleasant. He reached up to scratch his eye, and his hand came away red with blood. Okay. He was probably still asleep.

Jack shuffled to the bathroom, his eye itching uncomfortably the whole way.  The mirror showed the problem. His right eye had turned dark green and was bleeding. That would be concerning if this wasn’t a dream, he thought sleepily.

His reflection growled at him. “G̨oơd̵ ̨m͏or̕n̸in͞g͠.͟” It really wasn’t. A sliver of glass from the corner of the mirror broke off and fell into the sink. Jack yawned. “I ̢th͠o̡ugh̕t ͞I͟ t͢o͠l̢d y̛ou t͢o͝ ҉ _w̶ake ͢up̛_.̛” The words, snarled, like the previous ones, from his own lips, hit Jack like a gunshot, or a shot of coffee, and suddenly he was very awake. His reflection stared wide-eyed back at him, one eye blue and one eye still a damning dark green. Well, fuck.

This wasn’t a dream.


	9. 14 - Silent Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](http://sylveondreams.tumblr.com/post/179065823418/egotober-day-14-silent-night).  
> Warnings: none

_Silent night…_

The lights in one of the rooms the cameras watched turned off, casting the room into pitch blackness as the music began to play.

_Holy night…_

All eyes were fixed on the storage room, even though there was nothing to see in the pitch blackness.

_All is calm…_

Click.

_All is bright…_

Florescent lights flickered on. The music stopped. A cassette ejected itself from the tape player in the corner of the room, tape ballooning out of the plastic casing and falling to the floor.

The tape player, empty now, crackled back to life. “W͘el͡c̴o̧m͘e͢! It’s so͝ n͜ic͡e̛ t̨o se͘e̴ ̨yo͢u ag̛ain͘. I͘'͠m̶ ̛gla̛d͝ you'͡re͘ b̵a̷ck for anoth̢ęr yea̵r͢. I ͟w҉o̡u̸ld̕n͝'t̴ ̨w͢a͞n̛t to ͏l̡ose any of m̵y̶ ͡lo͠ya̛l ̛a̡ưd͘i͞enc̶e by҉ bei͝n͟g̸ un͞reliab͠le̕.̶” The speakers crackled. The image of the room flooded with static, and, one by one, the lights in the other rooms clicked off.

The observers held their breath. There had been hours of nothing happening, but now, at last, something.

There was a moment of silence and darkness before the lights in the dressing room turned on. A figure was slumped in the chair in the bottom right of the frame.  

The tape player began to speak again. “I reme͝mber ͘you͏ ͠al͢l tr̨yin̨g ̢to̡ ͡zo̴om͜ ̵in̢.͞ I'͜m̨ g̵la͝d̢ ͡t̷o̡ ̕s̕e̵e y̸ou͡ h̵av̷en'̛t̛ ͞cha͜ng͡ed ̡eith͜e̛r̕.”

The dressing room clicked to fill the entire screen. The air next to the motionless figure crackled visibly.

“A͘re͢n'̢t̴ yo͞u g̶la̷d͠ I h̶ook̡ed͞ ̡u̵p͘ ̵mic͡rop͢h̷ones̕ to ̶these ͘cam͡e̵r͜a̧s for yo͘u̸,͜ l̡o͞yal͝ au͜d̕i̴e͝n͟ce?͏” Laughter. “I̵ ju̶st̸ wa̡n͟ted yǫu ̧to hear̛ ̧hi͢m scr̨eąm.”

The figure jerked and shot up, gripping the sides of the chair. His voice came fuzzily through the mic, panicked and raw. “Where am I? Where are they? Where did you put them?”

“R̵e͡lax.” The voice was now obviously picking up on a different mic from before. “Yoư'͢ll ͠s̷ee͞ t҉h̸em ̡a͏ga҉i̛n ͡ver̷y̡ soon.”

The disturbance in the air next to the seated figure moved to overlap him. His body stiffened, marred by the irregularities in reality.

“Have̛ a͜ ͡g͢oo̕d ̷ȩveni҉n͝g͢,͜ s͜ilen̛t͘ ob̸ser͝v̢e̢r̸s͏.”

The man began to convulse. As he began to scream, the lights in the room went out.

“Tha̧t'̧s̢ ̶b̸ee͜n Cha̡se҉ ̷Br͜ody, ͜and͘ I’m ͟yo̸ur̨ hơs̕t-” Loud static.

And then the nine cameras returned to the screen, silent and motionless once more. Across the world, the silent observers began their rapid conversation once more.


	10. 17 - Shades of Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](http://sylveondreams.tumblr.com/post/179159046763/egotober-day-17-shades-of-blue).  
> Warnings: none

Dark fiddled with the open chest of his prone Google unit, inputting new code into the microcomputer that governed the android’s power supply and occasionally changing where wires were plugged into the faintly glowing power cell. Google blinked slowly, his open chest causing his motions to be reduced to a tenth of their normal speed. The computer beeped, and Dark punched the android’s side in frustration.

_“If you cannot redirect all of your processing power to fulfilling your secondary objective when commanded to do so, Google, then what is the point?”_

Google’s voice was sluggish.  **“My developers didn’t  want me to obey the objective my programming laid out. A patch is still forthcoming to remove the desire from your Google IRL unit.”**

Dark clicked Google’s chest panel shut and pressed the skin back down. Google sat up, blinking rapidly to indicate the recalibration of his systems. The G on his chest glowed back to life. Dark passed over Google’s shirt, which had been thrown aside messily on the floor, and Google pulled it on over his head.

They sat in silence for a minute or so before Dark heard the camera shutters in Google’s eyes click. He looked at the android.  **“I have never seen so much of your blue aura visible.”**

Dark chuckled.  _“Don’t expect to see it again.”_  He leaned forward, driven by something within him, and pressed a gentle kiss to Google’s lips.

**“You were being recorded,”**  Google announced, looking up at Dark as the other stood up.

_“I would expect nothing else from you. Fix your coolant levels before I return.”_  With that, Dark’s auras consumed him and he vanished.


	11. 25 - Magenta Martini

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](http://sylveondreams.tumblr.com/post/179439480418/egotober-day-25-magenta-martini).  
> Warnings: alcohol

Wilford was even more flirty when he was tipsy, and downright hellish when he was drunk. And he just kept drinking no matter how hard Dark tried to stop him.

So there Wilford was, curled on the couch next to Dark, attempting to nurse a brightly colored cocktail instead of just downing it like he had the last several. Dark watched him intently. Every second he  _wasn’t_  watching that pink menace, Wilford got ten times handsier.

Wilford shot a devilish grin at Dark and downed the rest of the drink before ripping his shirt open, the buttons on the shiny fabric popping off.

Dark sighed.  _“Wilford, control yourself.”_  He took the glass out of the other’s hands and put it on the coffee table with the growing collection of empty drink glasses.

“Who’s gonna see me?” Wilford slurred. Somehow, his hand had ended up on Dark’s thigh. Dark brushed it off.

_“All of the other egos, my dear. Show some restraint.”_  This tactic never worked and never would.

Wilford winked exaggeratedly at him. “They all know we’re fucking, sweetie.” Dark momentarily tasted the tang of magic in the air as another drink appeared in Wilford’s hand, just as brightly colored as the previous one but hot pink.

Dark clicked his tongue, eyeing the vibrant concoction.  _“When are you going to stop trying to publicly strip and let me take you home?”_

Wilford hooted with laughter and tried to down the small drink in one gulp, but Dark grabbed his wrist to stop him. “When I pass out.”

That wasn’t strictly true.  _“It’s midnight. I’ve said my good-byes. I’m going home. If you don’t want me to take you, you can do it yourself.”_  Wilford would never be able to make his way home on his own like this, and they both knew it.

Wilford extended a hand to Dark, who took it and gripped it firmly. His auras licked around them. A moment later, they sat in Wilford’s comparatively calm living room, the bright pink cocktail conspicuously gone from the scene.

_“May I escort you to bed, you drunk bastard?”_  Dark’s voice was light and teasing.

Instead of answering, Wilford leaned forward and kissed Dark, filling his mouth with the taste and scent of alcohol and candy and just a hint of blood.

Dark hummed and gently pulled away.  _“Come on, get up.”_


	12. 26 - Your Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](http://sylveondreams.tumblr.com/post/179472088278/egotober-day-26-your-reality).  
> Warnings: canon-typical blood

Two seconds of black.

It cuts away to show a familiar scene: Jack slumped over the pumpkin, his mop of green hair not quite obscuring all of the blood. There’s a jumpcut, and Jack’s up again, the (fake) gash on his throat red with fake blood. He’s laughing at the camera. “I fucked up. I dropped the knife.”

Two frames of black. He rips at the gash in his neck, a manic grin plastered across his face. His fingers go into the bloody cut. Real. His eyes are fixed on the camera, wide and grinning mirthlessly like his mouth.

One second of black. Jack fiddles with the knife again, clearly trying to figure out what position he was in before he dropped it on the floor. He finds something close to it and takes a deep breath, his whole posture shifting to get in character.

One frame of black. Claws scrape down the camera lens, scratching it badly enough that it’s hard to see through. The video glitches, and the scratches are gone to show Jack, the knife buried deep in the side of his head, laughing uncontrollably, blood trickling from his mouth and the side of his head and his throat. The laughs quickly begin to overlap each other, and Jack speaks over them, his voice badly damaged and disrupted by corrupted audio.

“Yo̶u'͠r҉e̴ ̧al͏l͜ ͝f͏o̡o̧l͜s.͏ ͏Every͡th͞i͢ng'̛s͘ ͞i͞n ̢y̧ou͡r ̧h̸a͞ņd̸s̨. I̕'v҉e̸ told͝ you.̴ Y̸ou̕ m͠a̕k̨e͟ h͜im ̡di̶e o̶v̶er an̴d OV̢ER͜. Y͡ou ̧ma̶ke ͜th̷e̵m ̢al̴l͝ d͜ie.̸ W̧i͝ll y̨ou e͠v̕ęŗ ̕l͠ea̕rn҉? W͞ill͝ ̡th̶er̴e̵ be҉ ̸an̸y ͟l̢e̴ft ͡w͡hen you ̴f̶inall̷y ̨d҉o?” He laughs, adding another layer to the screeching sounds of the distorted feedback laughter. “W̴at̨c͟h ͝o͏ut.͝ ̢M̶y ̴n͜e̕x̧t̴ ͠step͞ i͟s t̢o̵ co̵m͘e̴ o͜ut̶ ҉ǫf͢ ̷t͟hi͢s ̴digi͠t҉al͡ p͘r̸i̵s̡on̷ a͝nd͢ ̕expl̢ore  _yo͜u͠r_  wo͘r͢ld.̧ I̷ ͜can't͠ w̷ai̵t. ͏Than͢k y̵ou͜ a͜ll~͠”

The video cuts to black again and ends.


End file.
